Some gloomy untitled shite by Dotty



In my millionth incarnation

there are cinders in my voice

and wings on my back.


Mother, I was never a Goddess.

Why do you think that,

when my ghost still pole-dances

round your heart?


On some high mountain

of the waxing moon,

you will eat my blistered secrets

as my corpse bleeds blue,


you will gather cups and children

in the salt of your skin,

ancestral jewels in your belly,

amber waves of penance,

and four old dove hearts  to tie around your neck.


Please will you resurrect my fingerbones

without a twinge of longing

for the hours they were twined around your own.

I really would like to

gnaw at my fingernails again.


I wish you would shine a bright light

into my blackened lungs, just for a laugh.

But maybe not – my buoyant shriek

would push right into your guilt,

the famished blade twisting greedily

on the second plunge.


Where is my head?


All I can see when they lift the sheet

are two smiling tonsils, fat with memories of giggle-smoke.

And a toe.

But the coroner’s report will no doubt reveal

I had a heart I never knew.



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  1. My ghost still pole-dances round your heart…
    That is real writing. Makes me wish I never dropped out of high school.
    I stand humbled.


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